


take a bite of my spark tonight

by MonsterParade



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining For Idiots, Pretend Science, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, any dubcon is very very mild and completely pretend, it's a trainwreck, pretend dubious consent, shockwave is in loooove but he refuses to saaay it, sparkbite also but about him, they're just fuckign tsundere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: Sparkbite is a labor of love.Not a love of her, most certainly not; but a love of science, of the experimentation and technology that made her existence possible in the first place. The work that Shockwave has done to the little organic– techno-organic, now– has been gradual, delicate, and absolutely painstaking, and he would consider it one of his greatest achievements as of late that she has survived so long after all of the…grafting.She was also very, very expensive to make, from an energon standpoint, and it would be a terrible waste of resources to let her expire now.The point is, that Shockwave has prepared for every possible affliction that could eventually threaten his little experiment,…Except, apparently, for this one.Because Sparkbite is on the cusp of her very first heat cycle, and Shockwave is, for the very first time in millennia, at a complete loss for what to do about it.





	take a bite of my spark tonight

**Author's Note:**

> My half of a wonderful commission/art trade with the always-effervescent cyanideoreo/shapeofmetal on tumblr!! Oreo, thanks a hundred mill again for your *endless* patience with this, and with me, and I really, REALLY hope this fic will meet all your expectations! It was made with lots of love UwU
> 
> Next up on the agenda is a Nickel commission, so keep your eyes peeled if that's something you're interested in too, folks! <3

Sparkbite is a labor of love.  
  
Not a love of her, most certainly not; but a love of science, of the experimentation and technology that made her existence possible in the first place. The work that Shockwave has done to the little organic– techno-organic, now– has been gradual, delicate, and absolutely painstaking, and he would consider it one of his greatest achievements as of late that she has survived so long after all of the…grafting.  
  
She was also very, very expensive to make, from an energon standpoint, and it would be a terrible waste of resources to let her expire now.  
  
The point is, that Shockwave has prepared for every possible affliction that could eventually threaten his little experiment,  
  
  
…Except, apparently, for this one.  
  
Because Sparkbite is on the cusp of her very first heat cycle, and Shockwave is, for the very first time in millennia, at a complete loss for what to do about it.  
  
  
He doesn’t think Sparkbite knows. How could she, when such a thing has never been discussed?  
  
Humans are different from many other organics. Strangely enough, they themselves do not experience heat cycles at all, in the way that other mammals and even Cybertronians do. Shockwave has been observing Sparkbite closely for a few cycles now, since the moment he had first felt that tell-tale tremor in her EM field, and she has shown no inkling of knowledge about what is about to happen to her, outside of the standard mood swings and the desire for an unusual amount of fuel.  
  
Shockwave has made preparations already to increase her fuel intake for the time being. Her mood swings, he pays no mind to.  
  
Those, she will have regardless; his experiments have left her psyche unavoidably scarred. The price of progress.  
  
_____________________  
  
It has been thousands of years since any Cybertronian aboard the Nemesis has had a heat cycle. It is an interesting thing about their species– as newsparks, adolescents, with plating still bright and shiny-new and sparks that burn so freshly, heat cycles tend to occur with uncomfortable regularity. Every thirty, forty years or so, the energy from those freshly-kindled sparks builds up inside the spark chamber as the frame tries to adjust to itself, and said frame must find someway to discharge that excess energy safely and in a timely manner, otherwise the spark chamber can rupture and wreak havoc upon the delicate internals of the bot in question.  
  
As Cybertronians get older, the heat cycles gradually slow down over a period of millennia, the frame now accustomed to its own energy; and nowadays it is an exceedingly rare occurrence to find oneself suffering under the effects of a cycle, which has proven to be rather a boon during the extended wartime.  
  
There have been no proper newsparks for millions of years.  
  
That now has abruptly changed.  
  
Shockwave can’t say that he isn’t pleased– in a way, Sparkbite’s coming affliction is proof that her once-organic body has truly accepted the foreign parts forced upon it, making her something that is far greater, and far more Cybertronian, than she ever once was. She is the very first of her kind to make it this far, and Shockwave is eager to see exactly how her abnormal frame reacts to the influx of energy and charge.  
  
Insofar as Shockwave can feel eagerness at all, that is. He damaged his own emotional processing centers more than four million years ago in an attempt to keep his head clear (which was a marvelous success, he might add).  
  
  
“…I still don’t understand what I’m doing on the table,” Sparkbite pipes up, derailing Shockwave’s train of thought with her whining. “I feel fine. Are you sure I’m sick? I don’t feel sick.”  
  
Shockwave jerks his helm and looks over at her impassively, her little optics attempting to sear hateful pinpricks into the metal of his frame. She is still never quite as scared of him as she should be.  
  
“Be silent,” he orders her, turning back from her once more and returning to the diagnostics scan that he’s been running. He hears her grumble, feels the weight of her gaze still heavy on him, but summarily still ignores her, her wrists and ankles strapped firmly to the operation table with clasps that they are both well aware she cannot break.  
  
Her charge has been slowly but steadily ramping up. Shockwave can see, on the diagram of her frame on his screen, the heat and energy that pools beneath her plating, at the soft wiring of her joints and the cabling of her throat. She should be beginning any minute now, and she appears none the wiser, and no more fidgety than usual either.  
  
Shockwave abandons the diagnostic screen to return to Sparkbite’s side.  
  
“How does this feel?” he asks, reaching out for one of her immobile arms and pinching the exposed wiring in the crook of her elbow between his fingers. Unsurprisingly, Sparkbite yelps, a brittle bark of sound, and tries reflexively to jerk her arm away, her teeth snapping and then gritting together like she’s imagining biting him.  
  
“Ow! It fucking hurts! What the hell?”  
  
Shockwave ignores her complaints.  
  
“And this?” he asks, gentling his touch until it resembles something more like a lover’s caress as he follows a main fuel line up the length of her inner arm. He rolls the wire under his thumb, watching Sparkbite closely, and it’s like a switch has flipped inside her. Her grit teeth relax, her mouth falling open, and Shockwave watches her optics flutter even as they light up in surprise, her servos flexing for something to hold onto.  
  
“Wha– bwuh,” she says, cleverly. Shockwave nods once and then releases her.  
  
He isn’t quite certain what his first course of action will be once his little experiment is well and truly in her cycle. She will need to be studied, of course, so it’s doubtful that he will bother to release her from the table– but should he assist her immediately upon the crest of her charge, or should he simply wait and observe a while? The latter option would give him some time to take more detailed notes regarding her reactions…  
  
  
There comes a thump at the door.  
  
Shockwave turns his helm, and Sparkbite mimics him.  
  
A Vehicon lingers nervously just at the threshold of the lab, their head lowered, their visor carefully aimed somewhere near Shockwave’s midsection rather than leveled at his optic proper. They hold a large crate in their hands.  
  
“The extra energon you requested, Shockwave, sir,” they say, lifting the crate a little. Shockwave gives no outward reply that he has heard them, and instead turns his back on them, making his way to the opposite side of the room to search the shelves for a clear datapad. He can feel them hovering in the doorway behind him, uncertain.  
  
“Set it on the table beside the operating slab.” Shockwave finally commands them, locating a datapad to suit his needs and tapping it to life. He hears some shuffling and a clunk, and then a soft noise.  
  
A strange pressure fills the room.  
  
“Hey,” he hears Sparkbite say, unusually quiet, and Shockwave turns his head to her, glancing in her direction.  
  
She remains shackled to the table, but the Vehicon seems to have frozen at the corner of her slab, leaned halfway over her, apparently having been attempting to reach the table for the energon without having to get too close to Shockwave. Shockwave has something of a bad reputation with the drones, given the occasional experiment of his that ends up requiring extra components.  
  
It’s unimportant. What is important is the feeling that’s sweeping through the lab, crisp and sharp and long-forgotten but familiar. He sees Sparkbite shiver, her optics blown wide and locked on the Vehicon where they linger, and then there is an audible crackle and her EM field shivers and _blooms_.  
  
The Vehicon jumps back like they’ve been stung.  
  
Shockwave’s audial antennae slide up and forward with interest as Sparkbite’s entire frame hums.  
  
“ _Hey_ ,” she says again, this time distinctly to the Vehicon, and Shockwave can almost see the energy rippling off of her to pass over the drone’s plating, tangling with their limbs and seeping into their seams. Sparkbite’s mouth is softly open, and the Vehicon makes a choked noise and leans back into her again, forgetting themselves as the thrall of the sudden charge between them washes over their processor and snares it.  
  
The crate of energon still in their hands rattles, and then slowly, slips.  
  
Shockwave drops his datapad back on the shelf as he moves across the room at speed to intercept, and catches the crate out of the air in one smooth motion before it can hit the ground and shatter the precious contents inside. The Vehicon stutters, and Shockwave wedges his arm cannon between the drone and the slab before anyone can get any further ideas.  
  
Heat programming works fast.  
  
“Out,” Shockwave commands briskly. He watches the Vehicon jump in place as they remember their processor again, and then immediately a second time as they take note of the very dangerous weapon humming so close to their delicate spark chamber. They scramble backwards in transparent alarm as Shockwave moves to fill their space and block Sparkbite with his frame. He can hear her whine behind him.  
  
“My apologies, sir, I don’t know– I don’t know what came over me,” the Vehicon says, quickly backing up to the doorway as they speak. Shockwave just barely inclines his head.  
  
In all likelihood, none of the drones have ever experienced a heat cycle. They perish too quickly for even their own frames to begin one; Shockwave is not in the business of mercy, but he can understand the drone being caught off-guard, with that fact in mind. He sets the crate of energon down and waves his hand.  
  
“Out.” he repeats, and this time it is in no uncertain tone. He has tests to do. The Vehicon identifies the boon they have been granted very quickly and thankfully retreats, hurrying out the door, trying to look like they aren’t still trying to get another look at Sparkbite as they disappear around the corner. Shockwave can hear them slow and linger in the hallway just out of sight, and he takes one loud and deliberate step in that direction before he can hear them properly running off.  
  
Shockwave returns to his work station and presses the button to close the door behind them, locking it as a precaution.  
  
“Why’d you do that?” Sparkbite asks irritably, jiggling her limbs in their cuffs as if she really thinks she can break free.  
  
Shockwave waves his hand at her without looking over his shoulder, as flippant a gesture as he is willing to perform. He’s seen Knock Out do it. It’s supposed to be dismissive. He doesn’t think he’s managed to get that across properly– hm.  
  
“We do not have time for such frivolities. I have testing to commence,” he says, double-checking that no one but Megatron has the access codes to his lab for the time being before turning on his heel and locating the datapad across the room that he’d dropped before. He unlocks the screen again, propping it carefully between his midsection and the end of his cannon, and stands in place to type in the preliminary data while Sparkbite tosses her head back and releases a whine that makes his plating crawl.  
  
“What did you do to me?” she asks, fidgeting again, her armor making scraping sounds against the surgical slab as her servos curl and clench and try to scratch. Shockwave very carefully doesn’t look at her– he already knows what she looks like. He’s seen this all before. Perhaps not since before she was fully augmented, but he hasn’t forgotten; the way she bites her lips has stuck in his processor for good, leaving little dents in her plush metal mesh as she worries it with her teeth. He knows she clenches her hands in arousal, and he’s sure they’re curled into fists where they’re pinned as well, perhaps so tightly that the paint will start flaking.  
  
She has a lot of fight in her, that one.  
  
“I did not do anything,” Shockwave informs her dryly, finally taking the datapad up in his hand proper and carrying it over to the table beside her slab. He sets the datapad down atop the crate of energon, ignoring the stool beneath the table in favor of remaining standing, and then finally glances down at Sparkbite, her optics locking on his one with an unsurprising intensity, hazy but bright. “You have entered the primary stages of your first heat cycle…which you have done quite firmly on your own, I will have you know. You are shackled to minimize the threat you pose to yourself in this state, and to others.”  
  
Sparkbite blinks once, slowly, and then squints, her eyes clearing up a little as she makes sense of his words.  
  
“You have got to be shitting me.” she says, as Shockwave’s audial fins dip back slightly at the crass language. “Like a cat? I’m going into heat like a fucking cat?”  
  
“In a similar manner to an Earth feline, yes. As well as Earth canids, and many other mammals on your planet. Does that make you feel better?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
Oh well.  
  
Shockwave leans in close to survey the state of her, and her gaze snaps to his hand as he rests it on the edge of her slab, close to her shoulder but not touching. She wriggles, and she wants to force that contact, he can tell. She can’t help it. It’s in her wiring now.  
  
“How do you feel?”  
  
“Go jump out the airlock,” Sparkbite replies quickly. Shockwave’s optic is immobile in his helm, but had he possessed the option, he would have rolled his eye.  
  
“I repeat; how do you feel? Basic answers. Cooperation gains rewards. Failure to comply with testing results in punishment.” he drones, unaffected by her attitude. Sparkbite tries to put on a brave face, as if she’s still considering digging in her heels; but he can already see the change in her as she is forced to remember whose mercy she is at, and even as he stares at her he can see her cheeks coloring, her lower lip jutting out, sulking.  
  
“… …I feel hot,” she finally answers, narrowing her eyes up at him. “Like, _warm_ -hot. Not sexy-hot. And…itchy.”  
  
“Your excess charge is building beneath your plating. If it is not discharged, the sensation will only intensify.”  
  
Sparkbite groans out a long breath.  
  
Shockwave ignores her and moves around to the foot of the surgical slab, raising his hand, and reaches down to tap the points of two digits on her modesty paneling. Sparkbite jumps like she has been electrocuted and tries to kick him.  
  
Her foot moves about half an inch.  
  
“Open up,” Shockwave commands.  
  
“What? No! Foreplay!”  
  
“That would be unnecessary. Retract your paneling.”  
  
Sparkbite glares at him through narrowed eyes, but she lacks the conviction she normally has. Shockwave keeps the contact between them, brushing insistently at a transformation seam, and he is unsurprised but faintly gratified nonetheless when she actually does as requested and lets her valve panels transform back and away, baring her to his scrutiny. If only she were always so cooperative.  
  
He can hear her take a deep breath as he looks impassively down at her, a habit left over from her human life, despite the fact that her lungs no longer need oxygen– and he dips down with careful fingers to trace the edges of her wet valve, already shining with lubrication. He feels a perverse jolt of pleasure in seeing her like this, shackled down and motionless, and he tilts his helm to appreciate her, slipping one finger into her and finding that it slides easily.  
  
Sparkbite gasps and tenses up around him, her head tossing back so that it clangs on the table.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
“Indeed,” Shockwave says distractedly, not really listening. A second finger joins the first, far too quickly for her usual state, but again she stretches to allow it without complaint and her valve cycles down to squeeze on him, dragging against his digits as he slowly works them in and then back out. Her little engine kicks up with a stutter and then roars to life, her vents clicking on to disperse the residual heat.  
  
“Shockwave,” Sparkbite whines, all traces of her usual fight dissolving in the face of the charge that he’s so cruelly stoking. He can feel her EM field flaring wildly, its edges ragged and grasping, and although Shockwave has always kept his own so tight to his frame as to be nearly nonexistent, the two of them are so close that he can still feel the catch of it against his, pulling him taut. Shockwave curls his fingers and presses in hard, roughly, and Sparkbite’s mouth falls open. “This– I– _ugh!_ ”  
  
She’s frustrated, unsurprisingly. Her new frame– or indeed her previous flesh body– neither has ever felt something quite so intense, or at least, something that was not pain. Shockwave imagines she’s likely feeling overstimulated already, and he knows that it is going to get far worse before it gets better.  
  
He should feel some pity towards her for that, but he does not (that is what he tells himself, at least).  
  
What he _is_ feeling is something decidedly less tender, and it’s a hollow ache, deep in his midsection.  
  
“Be silent.” he commands her. He slides his digits slowly out of her and barely pauses before slamming them back in, once, as hard and as fast as he can, and poor Sparkbite makes a sound like she’s choking before she makes a useless attempt to writhe. Shockwave’s audial fins perk up with interest that he does not bother to hide.  
  
Sparkbite is open-mouthed panting, held immobile to the slab, and her lips look plush and shiny and soft, the soft pink of her tongue visible against her teeth. Perhaps it’s some kind of misplaced envy, or perhaps it’s simply a kink; but Shockwave has always been interested in her mouth, so oddly organic as it is, and that appreciation has not faded with time, not at all. In fact, Shockwave is now realizing belatedly, Sparkbite is now appropriately sized to allow for something more than one of his fingers on her tongue–  
  
And Shockwave considers it for only a moment before deciding he has no reason for holding back.  
  
“Do you want to overload?” he asks, scissoring his fingers. Sparkbite mewls, trying to bite her lip, and when Shockwave threatens to add a third digit she breaks down at the added pressure, nodding furiously even as she looks up at him with mortification.  
  
“Yes! Yes, yes, please-–”  
  
Shockwave pulls his fingers from her and cuts her pleading off without a word, listening to her hiss and admiring the strings of lubricant connecting his clawtips without remorse. He rubs them into her node, enjoying her ragged gasp, and then pulls them away again to fiddle with a dial on the side of the surgical slab, much to her confusion.  
  
“What– wha, what are you doing?” she breathes. The slab jolts, and then makes a quiet mechanical grinding sound as it begins to lower, dropping her from his eye level. Once it stops, Shockwave tilts it diagonally, leaving Sparkbite’s head raised and her feet lowered, and as he steps up to her again he can see the realization in her eyes as he folds his own panels away, nudging his pressurizing spike against her cheek. It leaves a tiny smear of lubricant.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
She's considering it. He can see it. She doesn't have a choice, really, but she's considering it nonetheless, and she licks her lips even as she scrunches up her nose.  
  
"And...what kind of 'test' would this be?" she asks, giving him an unimpressed look that she has practiced so well in the past. "In what kind of way has this heat thing affected my _mouth?_ "  
  
Shockwave hesitates, but only barely.  
  
"Testing oral capacity following the conclusion of grafting, as well as the subject's inclination to acquiesce to demands under the pressure of heat coding," he lies, tilting his head. Sparkbite puffs a disbelieving laugh.  
  
"You just want me to suck your dick." she chuckles.  
  
Shockwave doesn't have a comeback for that. Instead of replying, he just reaches out to lace the fingers of his good hand into her hair, and with very little tugging he convinces her to turn her head to the side, allowing the head of his spike to brush against her lips. They are soft and warm and slightly bitten, and she presses them tightly together as if to keep him out as he nudges. As if he can't see the way her pupils have dilated, her needless breath quick and heavy with lust.  
  
"Open," he commands, tugging her hair a little more firmly. She scrunches her face up and grumbles at him, but it's entirely ineffective, and he knows she wouldn't dare to bite him, so he just does it again and then holds her there, slightly uncomfortable, until she exhales and gives in.  
  
She closes her eyes and opens her mouth, and Sparkbite goes slack as Shockwave pushes his spike past her lips and onto her tongue, a minute shudder running through the both of them. Her systems are running fast to cope with her newly-awakened programming, her fans already insufficient to cycle the heat, and it leaves her mouth hot around him, almost to the point of discomfort. Shockwave pins his audial fins back against his head and cannot be bothered to care.  
  
Sparkbite grunts something indecipherable to herself as she relents and rolls her tongue along the underside of Shockwave's spike, and her EM field makes it clear it is an insult even as she takes him further in and the ridges along his spike bulge against the inside of her cheek. He isn't even _moving_ her-- his hand is in her hair, but Sparkbite is doing the work herself. So much for the faux unwillingness.  
  
Shockwave tilts the slab Sparkbite is on a little further, to adjust his position, and then carefully holds her still and slides himself down her throat.  
  
He doesn't consider himself a sadistic individual. He gains nothing in particular from the discomfort of others, has far better things to do than dwell on the feelings of those caught up in those things that he does-- but he would be lying to himself if he denied the faint thrill he feels from the reflexive choking sound Sparkbite makes as he pushes himself down on her. She doesn't _need_ to breathe, as he has established, so he can't hurt her this way...and so he sees no reason to be particularly delicate with his movements as he pulls her curls, coaxing, and starts to move her head so he can gently fuck her throat.  
  
It's the power imbalance, he thinks. He's never had this option before, and he likes the way Sparkbite half-opens her eyes to gaze up at him, her lips wide open and shiny, as she makes no attempt to stop him. In fact, she leans into it. Her tongue is exactly as velvet-smooth as he'd thought it would be.  
  
He can feel her field flaring with the lazy movements, each slow push and pull stoking the static fire that builds inside her wiring and makes her shiver, unable to touch herself. Sparkbite tries to move her hips, silently imploring him to do something about her charge, and although she can't manage to move more than an inch or two Shockwave still can't help but turn and look down at her, admiring her valve and the way it's held bare, dripping down onto the medical slab. She looks at him with wanting eyes and Shockwave slides his fingers out of her hair.  
  
" _Mrpphm_ ," she groans softly as Shockwave twists his upper body and reaches around for her valve again. It's clumsy, and he has to shift his hips again, and even then he can only sort of reach-- but the sigh of relief Sparkbite gives as his fingers find her node again sends electricity prickling down his spinal struts, more than making up for the awkward positioning. She's already so wet that he imagines she could take him without any preparation.  
  
"You are very greedy," he informs her, his voice kept carefully level and monotone so he doesn't betray any kind of affection to her. She seems to know anyway, somehow, her pretty eyes sparkling, and she gives him a mischievous look and sucks on him, _hard_ , startling him. Shockwave would have liked to claim that he was as unaffected by the surprise as everything else that ever beset him-- but no, he nearly jumps, and his engine gives an answering rumble that ebbs out into something a bit too much like a purr.  
  
Sparkbite can't really smile with his spike in her mouth, but she gets the look across nonetheless.  
  
Were Shockwave a more tender mech, he would say she looked enchanting. Were he a mech more given to warm sweet feelings, and to such flights of fancy as the notion of love, he might have even _told_ her so.  
  
But he is not ( _isn't he?)_ , and so he stays largely silent, stilling his hips so that she can finally take over while he devotes his attention to her array proper.  
  
It's all just foreplay. They both just dance around it, as much as each would fight to claim otherwise; the power struggle, the little verbal barbs, it's only just a show they put on, out of habit at this point, to allow themselves to be able to justify the way they always fall together so naturally, now.  
  
Shockwave shakes his head. He's being ridiculous.  
  
" _...Mmh imph umcmfrrrble_ ," Sparkbite mumbles after another minute, tilting her head so that Shockwave's spike pushes up against the inside of her cheek, allowing her more room to complain. He can feel her teeth, a little, as she tries to talk around him, and he makes a soft hissing sound that can barely be heard over the grinding of their engines, pinching her node just hard enough to in return to qualify as rude.  
  
Sparkbite yelps. Shockwave tilts his helm.  
  
"What was that?" he asks, pulling back and away, sliding his spike out of her mouth with a soft wet 'pop'. He rests the head of it against her chin, looks down at her, and his field flickers faint and smug against hers. She always manages to get more emotion out of him on an average day than the entire rest of the ship would get in a month.  
  
He thinks it's something of a talent.  
  
"I said 'this is uncomfortable', you big motherfucker," Sparkbite replies, all mock anger, and licks her lips. "If you want me to suck you off, you can just _say_ so, you know. We look ridiculous right now."  
  
Shockwave's helm tips further, almost as far as it can turn.  
  
"You have no respect for the scientific method," he says blankly. He watches her eyebrows go up and her mouth fall open in response, a delightedly mocking retort on the very tip of her tongue, and he waits until the very last moment possible before pushing his hips forward and popping the tip of his spike back past her open lips again. She sputters in offense, her face going red, and Shockwave feels muted amusement fighting to be allowed to surface.  
  
He ignores those feelings, naturally, and then finally pulls away from her proper before she can do anything to get him back for it.  
  
"You are the worst person I have _literally_ ever met," she tells him, and Shockwave just lets her words hang as he bends down to undo her shackles. The release of pressure as the clasps click open and free her limbs seems to be enough to make her forgive him, or at least enough to make her forget, and Sparkbite groans appreciatively and finally sits up on the slab, arching her back in a stretch, rolling her wrists. She shakes out her hands despite the clasps being nowhere near tight enough to cut off her energon circulation, and Shockwave stands back and waits for her expectantly.  
  
The heat curls off of her plating in waves.  
  
"Great, _yes_ , finally," she says, cracks her knuckles, and then rolls over onto her stomach, messing with the slab's controls until it evens out again. Then she props herself up on her elbows and pushes her aft back at him, and looks back at him over her shoulder as insistently as she can. Shockwave's audial antennae raise upwards in lieu of any eyebrows. " _Please_ come on and fuck me already, because I am actually dying."  
  
As suddenly fixated as Shockwave is on the puffy lips of Sparkbite's valve shining wet, squashed between her thighs, he finds that his words escape him, and for a long uncharacteristic moment all he can find to say is, " _Ah_."  
  
It comes out much more like a question than he would like, and Sparkbite herself seems torn between mirth and impatience in reply.  
  
"Earth to Shockwave," she prompts him, raising her aft into the air and thumping her hand on the table, "Anyone home? My insides feel like they're liquid and if you don't fuck me _right_ now I'm going to lose it?"  
  
That does snap him back to it.  
  
He'd been so distracted for a few minutes there, by their standard banter and her attitude, that he had genuinely almost forgotten that she was actually in heat. He can see the tension on her face now, though, and as he looks at her he can see something flicker across her features that's almost like pain.  
  
Desperation.  
  
"--You are not going to die," he finally manages to say, shaking his head as he returns to her and leans his weight against her from behind. During heat, bursts of charge are vented and exchanged not only through the interface system (although that way is primary), but also through gaps in and contact between stretches of plating, and so Shockwave intentionally pushes as much of his own armor against her delicate frame as he can, maximizing surface contact as best he can in their position. "You cannot physically offline this quickly into a heat cycle. The charge would need to build uninterrupted for solar cycles before medical complications would arise."  
  
Sparkbite's valve is slick and hot where she pushes it back against the smooth plating on the joint of his hip, and she makes an unimpressed sound and tries to grind back on him. He makes no effort to hold her still.  
  
"You _know_ that's just an expression," she groans over her shoulder, and Shockwave lets her work herself up just a little more before he finally takes the initiative.  
  
( _Initiative, not pity. He doesn't really care how much her cycle is affecting her one way or the other, he reminds himself._ )  
  
"Spread your legs," he finally tells her, and it is with obvious relief that she quickly obeys, her thighs bracing apart, her fingers curling, her head drooping down further towards her hands. She makes a _very_ enticing picture, and Shockwave carefully and quietly takes a single picture on his internal camera to save to his memory banks. For...research. Then he braces his hand on her hip and wraps his other arm around her midsection, holding her steady, and blindly nudges the head of his spike against her valve.  
  
If her mouth had been hot, her valve was even _hotter_ , and even just sliding himself through the wet lips of it is almost enough to draw a weak noise from him-- or it would be, if he were a mech of lesser constitution. He stubbornly remains silent, and listens to her panting in his stead.  
  
"Shockwave, Shockwave," she breathes, rolling her hips back against him, trying to force him along, and he can feel her frustration and her charge nipping at his field. " _Please!"_  
  
Well, that's enough teasing, he supposes.  
  
Shockwave finds his purchase after a few more probing thrusts, and then her valve is stretching open around him and he's pressing himself in.  
  
Sparkbite would have crumpled completely were it not for Shockwave's arm around her middle holding her up against him.  
  
" _Please,_ " she gasps, the abrupt and much-needed stretch stoking her built-up charge into something desperate and frenzied, and as she scratches at the slab beneath her and writhes in an attempt to fuck herself back on him, Shockwave does his best to hold her as steady as he can until she has had proper time to adjust. She may be slick and needy, but his spike is thick and she is small, and he will not allow her to injure herself in the fit of her heat when the medic cannot get to her.  
  
It's not because he _cares_. It's just that Knock Out has no self-control, and Shockwave wouldn't trust him around Sparkbite in this state any further than he could throw him.  
  
"Hush," Shockwave murmurs to her, trying to remember the tone of voice mecha usually use that is designated as 'soothing' and making an attempt to replicate it. "Hush. I will take control. You will overload. Cease your fidgeting."  
  
"I'm gonna _die_ ," Sparkbite whines pitifully.  
  
"You will not die. I have you. You must trust in me."  
  
It feels like a suddenly tender thing to say. It strikes Shockwave as so odd, the moment it comes out of his vocalizer, that it almost gives him pause as his processor realizes it-- what should he care, really, if Sparkbite is distressed? She is in no imminent danger, so it shouldn't _truly_ matter; after all, they are not... _close_. ( _Aren't they?_ )  
  
\--Shockwave shakes his helm firmly, as if to dislodge the thoughts, and then turns his full attention back to the matter at hand, and back to the squirming, squeezing mech under his arm. Sparkbite doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by his unusual choice of words, and Shockwave supposes he will have to take her current disinterest in what he has to say as the relief it is. She is much too preoccupied with her heat coding to care much about anything else.  
  
Sparkbite makes another fragile little sound, one that pulls at something alarmingly close to Shockwave's spark, and he lets his engine roar to drown her out as he moves his hand from her hip to slide it around between her legs, feeling around just above where they're joined. She's soaked with lubricant, it streaks her thighs and his fingers, and when he finds the tender, swollen bump of her anterior node and rolls it under his thumb, the yelp she makes is so sharp it almost sounds like pain, even as she spreads her legs further and pleadingly arches her back.  
  
"Shock _wave,_ " she hisses, trying to twist in his hold to see him, and the glare she manages to shoot him over his shoulder is so familiar that he actually feels vaguely amused. So he rolls her node again, and watches her bite her lip and crumple with muted satisfaction.  
  
She has probably adjusted by now. Their size difference ensures that she'll always be tight, but at least she is no longer squeezing down around him so desperately. Shockwave keeps the pad of his thumb on her node, his other arm tight around her midsection, and finally begins to move.  
  
The first thrust is slow and heavy, leaning in deep, feeling her out, and Shockwave's lone optic flickers fitfully in his helm as Sparkbite takes him in to the root with an ease born of practice, her valve almost burning hot and dripping with lubricant. Her legs are shaking already, he can feel them, unsteady and weak, and as Shockwave slowly draws himself back, letting each blunted ridge on his spike catch on the way out, poor Sparkbite stops trying to look back at him over her shoulder and just drops her head to the surface of the slab, forehead pressed to it, her own hands in her hair. She whimpers, and Shockwave braces his pedes against the floor and hilts himself again in one quick snap of the hips.  
  
That is the only bit of mercy he allows her.  
  
He keeps his arm around her and holds her up as her legs try to give out, and he listens to her exclamations and breathless cries of shock as he abruptly, finally, sets a brutal, punishing pace. She isn't expecting it, and the way she wriggles in his grasp tells him that the sudden onslaught of sensation is bordering on over-stimulation-- but that's _exactly_ what he's aiming for, and he fucks into her hard and fast and feels her valve clench down around him as her voice crackles out into a wordless static burst.  
  
She's already so charged-up from her first cycle of heat that it takes barely any work; thirty seconds of rapid rutting and quick little circles on her node and that's all it takes, and Sparkbite is overloading with a shriek, the first of many, just as Shockwave knew she would.  
  
Shockwave slows his thrusts as she overloads around him, clutching her tight and allowing himself a few moments to enjoy the desperate squeeze of her calipers as she cums on his spike; but even as he luxuriates in the feeling, he doesn't stop moving, not completely. As much as he'd like to indulge, his work is far from done, and he lets her clench and rock back on him for a minute and then simply picks up the pace again, before she's even finished with the aftershocks.  
  
Sparkbite makes a garbled noise and pulls at her own hair with a sound that's halfway like a sob.  
  
" _Yes_ , yes yes _yes_ please _please_ ," she babbles, her valve twitching around him, her frame buzzing with visible charge that presents itself in the seams of her plating. It should be pathetic, embarrassing, excessive, to see, but instead Shockwave finds it bizarrely endearing, and gives a satisfied hum deep in his vocalizer as he presses down against her.  
  
The energy released by her overload washes over him and seeps into his plating, the rest of it dispersing into the air, and Shockwave can feel the tingle and the leap of the sparks inside his joints, buzzing through him and leaving him hot and restless.  
  
"Relax," he urges her. She can't, naturally, but it just seems like the right thing to say in these circumstances.  
  
Sparkbite replies with some pitiful wordless noise and just tries to roll her hips, and Shockwave nods as if she can both see him and has said something that made sense. He thinks he's trying to be supportive. It's as novel an idea as it is absurd.  
  
Feeling suddenly, _bizarrely_ self-conscious, Shockwave retreats into the pleasant familiarity of having Sparkbite squirming underneath him, and blocks his processor from any further wandering as he loses himself in the mechanical motions of his hips and his hand and stubbornly focuses in on the mutual exchange of cresting charge.  
  
\---------------  
  
Shockwave is a mech with a significant amount of stamina on a good day (which this is), and although time throughout his ministrations passes without any particularities, he succeeds in dragging two more overloads out of Sparkbite before he begins to feel the need for his own, and a weak, trembling third one before he can hear her beginning to cry. Shockwave doesn't quite pause, but he does slow, and makes a wordless sound of inquiry as he moves his hand, which has begun to cramp, from Sparkbite's node to rest upon her lower back.  
  
Sparkbite's voice is rather raw and weak when she manages to answer him.  
  
"I-- I need-- please."  
  
"What do you need? Another overload?"  
  
She shivers a little upon hearing his words, but to his surprise, he can actually hear her laugh a little, through her over-stimulated sniffling.  
  
"I need you-- to cum inside me. You've been hol-- holding out."  
  
No matter to situation, Sparkbite always manages to surprise him.  
  
"You're surprisingly coherent for this point in your cycle," Shockwave notes aloud to her, leaning over her further, trying for the delicate balance of not crushing her while he attempts to turn his helm far enough to see her face. The thin metal that makes up her cheeks is colored a splotchy red, and he can see tear tracks at the corners of her optics, but still Sparkbite catches his eye, and she even manages to laugh again, with a little proper humor this time. She squeezes down on him, hard, and Shockwave's vents stall embarrassingly.  
  
"I'm no pushover," she breathes, rolling her hips in tiny circular movements that have her biting her lips as his spike drags along inside her. "I just need you-- to overload inside me, just overload already, and then we can, we _can_ \-- _fuck_."  
  
Her voice strains out again and her fingers dig back into the slab beneath her, where she has worn streaks of paint transfers from her own hands onto the silver metal, and Shockwave tilts his helm and picks up the slack for her, copying the swivel she'd been doing that made her valve stretch so perfectly around him. She's practically split open on him, thoroughly fucked open by this point, and Shockwave rests his helm on her shoulder and listens to the wet smack of his pelvic plating against the swollen lips of her valve.  
  
"We already are." he informs her dryly, without even a note of humor in his voice. He hears her grumble in confusion, then disbelief, and he grinds his hips and feels her clench around him-- and then she _finally_ identifies the attempt at a joke for what it is, and she shrieks out a laugh, overwhelmed and surprised.  
  
"Shut _up!_ You're insufferable!" she laughs breathlessly, just beside his helm. Shockwave feels something strange and warm spark to life in his chest.  
  
Faintly disconcerted, he tries to ignore the feeling, to stamp it out, and finds that it only grows with each little gasp and whimper he forces from Sparkbite's parted lips. It rises like a wave, a slow roll, it blooms inside his circuits like a flower, and it is so _entirely_ distracting that Shockwave doesn't even notice he's about to overload until the charge grabs him, stark and hot, and rakes down his spinal struts like sharp servos.  
  
Shockwave is _always_ silent when he overloads. It is a matter of preference, and of self-control. Never in all of Sparkbite's time with him has she heard him make a proper sound in the throes of pleasure-- but as Shockwave finds himself swept to the edge so abruptly that his optic flickers, his audial antennae sweeping back to pin against his helm, his frame tensing-- a sound rings out, a single, sharp _'hah',_ and it sounds so foreign that it takes him a moment to realize that it came from _him_.  
  
And another moment, and then of course, it no longer seems to matter, because Sparkbite is sucking in a sharp breath that she doesn't need, and Shockwave's plating flares, and his spike is throbbing, and then he overloads.  
  
It's stranger than usual, sweeter-- it seems to take its time, and Shockwave's optic offlines as his processor is swept with a pleasure that strangles his voxcoder back into silence, his transfluid filling Sparkbite's valve in a thick, hot rush that makes her gasp as it spurts out around his spike and past her valve lips. He can hear it dripping down to spatter the slab below her, and the whimper she gives in response has his frame seizing up to shiver its pleasure like the desperate clinging grasp of a lover.  
  
If his helm weren't ringing with it, Shockwave is sure he would be mortified.  
  
  
  
"--wave? Shockwave? ...Get off already...!"  
  
Only Sparkbite's straining voice manages to break through the fog in his processor to bring him back to the land of the living. Shockwave's optic shutters and then winks on, blinking back to life, and he looks down with a turn of his helm that feels unusually sluggish and sees Sparkbite underneath him, nearly flat on the slab, trying to slap his arm. She's nearly crushed underneath his frame.  
  
" _Get off,_ " she repeats, as Shockwave finally comes back to himself and pushes away from her in a hurry. She wheezes in relief as his weight leaves her, and then directly afterwards she whimpers again as his spike slides out of her and leaves her empty, dripping transfluid. She stays where she is, sprawled out, exhausted and debauched, and Shockwave steps away to what he deems a safe distance and tries to scrape his apparently melted processor back together, bewildered and uncomfortable with his own behavior.  
  
That fuzzy feeling in his chest is still there, and he's liking it less and less the longer it remains.  
  
He's not sure what just happened. And he dislikes being unsure of anything.  
  
"Did you seriously just pass out?" he hears Sparkbite ask, her voice echoing a little, reverberating off the metal table her face is pressed down on. She sounds equal parts amused and disbelieving, and Shockwave is very gratified to hear that his own voice is as steady as ever when he replies, simply,  
  
"No."  
  
and does not elaborate.  
  
He hears Sparkbite laugh at his answer, and hides the minute prickling of offense he feels under a well-practiced facade of disinterest as he watches her struggle to roll over on the slab. She manages to roll onto her side before her shaking limbs refuse to move her further, and she slumps down again and gives him a tired, mirthful little smile from beneath the frizz of her hair, her lips bitten and pink.  
  
"I...can't _move_ ," she informs him with a short laugh, as if he couldn't see it. "God, I really need a bath."  
  
And she does indeed, at that. Fluids streak her thighs and her pelvis and the table, a mixture of lubricant and Shockwave's own transfluid that drips lazily out of her valve, and the dried tear tracks on her face are faint, but still visible, leaving her the true picture of debauchery. She shifts a little more, grimacing at the sticky feeling, and Shockwave feels that bizarre pang deep in his chest again.  
  
He slowly inclines his helm.  
  
"You will need to refuel first," he tells her, "You have burned an exceptional amount of energy during your...throes."  
  
"I can't sit up to drink."  
  
Shockwave doesn't reply to that. His spike since retracted back into its housing and his own desire, for the moment, sated, he simply returns to Sparkbite's side with his more standard amount of confidence and, moving carefully, helps her to roll over, supporting her head in his hand as she sprawls out flat on her back. More of his transfluid leaks out of her and spatters onto the table.  
  
"Lie still." he commands her. Exhausted as she is, Sparkbite doesn't bother to argue with him, and lays there quietly, half-asleep.  
  
Shockwave pries open the crate of energon set aside on the smaller table next to her slab, the one the drone had delivered earlier for exactly this purpose, and gives Sparkbite an analytic once-over before removing two cubes, one for himself, and one for her. He breaks the seal on her cube and watches her crack open an eye at the sound, tired but hungry, and she grunts after a moment and tries to sit up.  
  
Her limbs judder a little bit, and she fails spectacularly.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
"Stop moving."  
  
Shockwave returns to her with the opened cube and wraps his cannon arm around her middle, at the elbow, until he can maneuver her to sit up. She leans heavily against him, groaning, and her distaste only increases when he holds the energon cube to her lips, prompting her to drink.  
  
"I can do _that_ myself," she grumbles. Shockwave refrains from scoffing only because he is better than that.  
  
"Then do it."  
  
She gives him a look that he knows would be accompanied by a raised middle finger (an Earth gesture; one he'd first learned the meaning of _very_ quickly) if she'd had the energy to spare, and he remains silently and faintly smug as she accepts the cube from him with shaking hands and takes a long drink.  
  
"Slowly."  
  
"Stop backseat-driving. I'm not dumb."  
  
It's something of a relief to have her attitude back already. Her behavior implies less of a likelihood that anything has gone wrong, as rare as complications during heat cycles can be-- _not_ that he was worried. He is an exceptional scientist, and he nearly built her from the ground up. She should be nothing if not working at optimal capacity.  
  
Shockwave keeps his musings to himself and quietly opens his own cube, sitting himself down on the end of her slab so she can continue to use him for support. The table is sticky underneath him, but he pays it little mind.  
  
They drink in silence, together.  
  
\-----------------------------  
  
Sparkbite gets far more of her aptly-named bite back once she has some extra fuel in her system.  
  
"I feel much better," she tells him lightly, tossing her empty cube aside without even aiming for the waste receptacle. Shockwave watches it bounce to the ground, flecking drops of energon across the floor, and turns his head to give her a slow look. Sparkbite bats her lashes at him and reclines backwards on her slab again, crossing her legs at the ankles and arching her back in a stretch. "You ready to go again?" she asks.  
  
Shockwave can feel her EM field starting to buzz again, heavy and hot, and while he is hardly surprised, he also has no intention of being at her beck and call for the remainder of her cycle. He shakes his head, and feels her prickle of indignation.  
  
"One good nut and you're really done?"  
  
"Overload. And no," Shockwave replies steadily, "But you are in need of a solvent shower. Accompany me to the washracks."  
  
Sparkbite perks up a little bit, at that.  
  
"Carry me?" she prompts, strong enough now to swing her legs over the side of the slab, sitting up on her own, but still a little unsteady. Shockwave takes a few moments to think about it, and Sparkbite attempts to help his decision along by reaching her arms up at him and opening and closing her hands.  
  
Shockwave's vents sigh.  
  
Without saying a word, he acquiesces to her demands and stoops down to pick her up, gathering her much smaller frame up to curl loosely in the crook of his arm, and her field washes with satisfaction and a faint hint of gratitude as he carries her over to the door.  
  
"--Soundwave," he says, activating his comm. link, "Clear the washracks. Inform the others of the consequences that will face them if I am to come across them. Only you and Lord Megatron are permitted access to my experiment at this stage."  
  
That satisfaction in Sparkbite's field wanes a little, to be replaced with exasperation. She's never liked being referred to as 'the experiment', despite the truth of the label, and in all honesty Shockwave doesn't use it as often nowadays as he once did. But he's feeling strangely hesitant at the moment, after that odd burst of feeling that had melted in his chest accompanying his overload, and referring to her in such a familiar tone right now feels...wrong. He needs to recreate a little distance.  
  
Silence is heavy over Soundwave's link for a few moments, and then,  
  
_"And, Starscream?"_ comes Lord Megatron's recorded voice, crackling over the link, slightly distorted as Soundwave replays it for what could be the thousandth time. Shockwave considers for a moment.  
  
"...His rank permits him access to the racks. But I am certain he remembers the fragile ground upon which he treads in my presence," Shockwave finally replies, cooly, and he knows that Soundwave has recorded his message and will be sending the voice clip to their second-in-command himself to ensure that the underlying threat in those words is clearly heard. The knowledge is accompanied by a faint satisfaction. Soundwave is no fan of Starscream's, either.  
  
Starscream will not be showing his face around Sparkbite today.  
  
A single beep sounds across the comm. link in reply, signaling that Soundwave has hung up without another sound, and Shockwave nods to himself and shifts Sparkbite where she sits in his arms, waiting a few moments for Soundwave to spread the message. Sparkbite grumbles quietly and nuzzles into him, seeking contact.  
  
\------------------  
  
The short walk from the lab to the washracks is, as requested, completely empty. No chatter echoes throughout those halls, no drones milling about, waiting to be given their assignments, and there is not so much as a single glimpse of movement against the slate grey of the walls as Shockwave carries Sparkbite through them.  
  
It is a pleasant change. Shockwave prefers the solitude.  
  
The racks themselves are empty as well when they arrive, but show evidence of having been recently used; steam from the hot solvent still drifts heavy in the air, and the tile floor is still wet, the solvent dripping onto it still warm, implying more than one interrupted shower thanks to Soundwave's message. Shockwave notices this but feels nothing about it, and simply carries Sparkbite to a stall in the corner where his bulk can help to shield her from prying eyes.  
  
He sets her down, and she sways a little on her feet before finding her balance. She blinks against the steam.  
  
"Okay, thanks," she says, glancing around. "Meet you back at the lab when I'm done, or...?"  
  
Shockwave looks at her blankly, and then squeezes past her to reach the solvent nozzle clipped to the wall.  
  
"I am not leaving."  
  
"What? Dude, seriously?"  
  
"Yes, 'seriously'. Your good judgement is on a timer," he says bluntly, "And I have no wish to return to find you in the middle of an entire squadron running on high charge. I will remain here while you bathe, and accompany you back to the lab when you are finished."  
  
Sparkbite makes a face, but doesn't protest.  
  
"Fine. Nozzle then," she prompts, and holds out her hand, and Shockwave passes it to her. She squeezes the trigger and turns on the solvent, holding her free hand underneath the spray while she acclimatizes to the temperature, and Shockwave rests his hand on his hip and looks idly about while Sparkbite gets busy rinsing herself off, turning her back to him. The rush of the solvent drowns out all other ambient sound.  
  
Shockwave ends up watching her while she bathes.  
  
It's not out of interest, he assures himself, nothing of the sort; but with his frame wedged into the opening of the stall to serve as a barricade and precious little else to look at inside it, he winds up watching the gentle clank and shift of her plating and the way the stream of the solvent runs down her back, pooling in the thin valleys where her protoform is visible. Her hair is wet, and drips down against her face, its soft strands such a novel feature for a Cybertronian.  
  
Her movements are rhythmic and pleasing to watch, and Shockwave allows himself to relax slightly as he watches her. Sparkbite stares stubbornly at the wall and pretends she can't feel him staring.  
  
  
The rare warm atmosphere tenses and breaks as soon as the sound of footfalls reaches Shockwave's audials.  
  
Sparkbite stiffens. Shockwave copies her, and turns partway in the doorway of the stall to look.  
  
Standing silently amidst the wafting steam, Soundwave watches them with a blank visor and waits to be acknowledged.  
  
...Oh.  
  
Hm.  
  
"Soundwave," Shockwave greets him without emotion. "What is it?"  
  
To his right, Shockwave sees Sparkbite rise up onto her tiptoes, trying to see past his bulk, surprised and curious, and he extends his cannon arm to nudge her back, catching her expression flashing indignation. He pays it no mind.  
  
Soundwave doesn't move, and as usual he is eerily still, the only motion from his frame the gentle twitch and curl of his spindly fingers.  
  
_"Soundwave,"_ Soundwave replies, using a clip of Shockwave's own voice, _"Permitted access to-- experiment."_  
  
"Hey!" Sparkbite pipes up.  
  
Soundwave still doesn't move.  
  
_"...Sparkbite,"_ he corrects himself, this time in Knock Out's voice. Sparkbite stretches up to see past Shockwave and flashes him a satisfied look.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Ignoring Sparkbite completely, Shockwave stares at Soundwave, numbly surprised, and as his words register in his processor, he feels something strange and dark and bitter curl up in his chassis and has to manually prevent his battle protocols from switching online. It only worsens his confusion, and that aggravates him.  
  
"Truly?" he asks, keeping his voice hollow and devoid of emotion. "You wish to join us? I assume, then, that you have been given permission to set aside your duties."  
  
He feels his field prickle accusatory against his own plating as he speaks, and takes care to reel it in and keep it tight, lest the communications officer discover his sudden distaste. He's always gotten along well with Soundwave, until now, and he has no desire to tarnish that neutral working relationship.  
  
Soundwave looks back at him, his visor betraying nothing, and replies with a single curt nod.  
  
Shockwave glances down at Sparkbite. She seems to be piecing things together.  
  
"...Seriously?" she finally asks, looking back and forth between the two larger mecha with perhaps a little less surprise than Shockwave would have liked to see from her. "Like-- seriously? Soundwave _fucks?_ Soundwave, _you_ \-- you _know?"_  
  
She waves her hands around as she talks, flicking hot solvent all over Shockwave, but her eyes are fixed on Soundwave, and either he doesn't understand or simply doesn't feel the need to reply, because he gives no indication he's even heard her. Shockwave tilts his audial fins backwards and wonders what it would be like to be able to roll his eye.  
  
"Soundwave has the same interface equipment as every other mech aboard the Nemesis," Shockwave informs her dryly, "It is standard issue."  
  
Sparkbite's is the odd one out, in fact, but if they are ever to have that discussion at all, it will be at a _later_ date; the matter at hand takes precedence.  
  
He glances at Sparkbite, and sees her lick her lips. She gives Soundwave a calculating look through hooded optics.  
  
"...Okay, alright, _yeah,_ " she decides, "Let's do this. Yeah! Oh-- but _no_ recording. Got it?"  
  
Shockwave and Soundwave look at her, and then back at each other.  
  
Soundwave will be recording. They both know it. He records everything, lest it bear the slightest scrap of information useful to their cause.  
  
Soundwave eventually nods, and Shockwave doesn't call him on it.  
  
He slowly steps aside to let him in.  
  
Finally given that last non-verbal permission, Soundwave steps forward with no great haste and into Shockwave's personal bubble, his own field held as close to himself as Shockwave's own, and even so close, he can barely feel Soundwave's intentions, despite the distance between them closing to such as they could feel each others' ventilations through the steam. It is just another thing that makes him such an excellent communications officer, and such an uncomfortable individual to be around.  
  
Or so it would be the latter, if much made Shockwave uncomfortable at all.  
  
He watches closely as Soundwave steps up to Sparkbite, but does not intervene, and when he sees Sparkbite give the other mech a quick, bashful smile and duck her head in invitation, he feels that bitterness twist up in his fuel pump again and steadfastly ignores it.  
  
\--------------  
  
Soundwave treats Sparkbite differently. Differently from the other mecha aboard the ship, and differently from how Shockwave handles her. Shockwave's movements are firm, unwavering, concise; Soundwave's are delicate, and he skims and teases, the playful brushing of sensory nodes and EM field bordering on flirtatious. As stiff and uncomfortable as that makes Shockwave (whether he will admit it to himself or not), he does have to accept that the change of pace is having a marked effect on Sparkbite, and it is interesting to watch how she unravels, held against the wall of the rack by energy instead of frame but still equally as pinned.  
  
He's putting on a _show_ , for whatever reason has taken root in his silent processor, and it reminds Shockwave of his performances in the pits of Kaon, the flair and the mind games, so very very long ago.  
  
Sparkbite returns his light touches with fervor, and stretches up onto her toes again as if it will help her reach him.  
  
The wash of her EM field is so hot as to be nearly stifling.  
  
"Don't tease," she warns Soundwave mildly, as his thin fingertips skim over the plush lips of her valve for the dozenth time. "You don't have to get me ready. Shockwave already did-- just _fuck_ me."  
  
Soundwave tilts his visored helm and regards her silently, his hand resting on her midsection.  
  
And then all at once, he seems to accept her words and is spurred into motion, moving with feline grace as he grabs her by the knee, pushes her back against the wall, and lifts her leg up, baring her to him. Shockwave feels a sudden sting in his hand as he watches them, and when he glances down, he finds that he has curled his fist so tightly that his fingertips are scraping his palm raw.  
  
He says nothing, and doesn't move. Sparkbite squeals and giggles in surprise.  
  
"Oh! Okay."  
  
There is a soft click, barely discernible over the patter of all the solvent they're wasting, and then Soundwave's spike is pressurizing into the scant space between them with a quiet hiss and the head of it is bumping against her belly. Both Sparkbite and Shockwave take a moment to admire it.  
  
Where Shockwave's is thick, nearly as big around as Sparkbite's fist, and heavily ribbed, Soundwave's spike is smooth and slender and lacks the heavy texture on its dark plating. It is a deep purple, almost black, and the biolights winding around its length glow all the more harshly in contrast. Soundwave doesn't dither, and carefully lines himself up with Sparkbite's dripping valve while her giggling increases in volume.  
  
She's excited, but Shockwave can also feel her nerves.  
  
Sparkbite wiggles uselessly where she's pinned, desperate once again for contact, and she turns her head to glance over at Shockwave, her lower lip held between her teeth-- and then Soundwave shifts his hips and presses in, and Sparkbite's mouth falls open in a quiet gasp as his spike sinks into her. He pushes steadily forward until she's taken him to the root.  
  
"Oh-- _yes,_ " she breathes, letting her head tip back, her optics squinted against the solvent spray. Soundwave keeps her leg held high and slowly rolls his hips, getting used to the feel of her, and Sparkbite whimpers and flexes her fingers uselessly on the tile wall where they are splayed.  
  
Shockwave finds himself stepping in closer before he can think.  
  
He's not sure what he was intending to _do_ , if anything; but within a moment he finds himself chest-to-back with Soundwave, peering down over his shoulder, and suddenly it feels an awful lot like posturing, and he can feel Soundwave's quiet amusement curl against his field as he bristles.  
  
He holds his ground at that point and stubbornly doesn't move.  
  
"You're wasting time," Shockwave tells him cooly, "She's in heat. There is no need for subtlety."  
  
_Hurry up._  
  
Soundwave, naturally, doesn't reply or even acknowledge him, but he does shift his stance, and in a flurry of motion he seizes Sparkbite's other leg, sweeps her up off her feet, and pins her against the wall with both of her thighs held tight around his waist, his grip shifting to her hips. She squeaks and laughs and moans in response, and Shockwave can vividly imagine the way she's squeezing around Soundwave's spike, buried in her to the hilt.  
  
Soundwave seems to glance at him.  
  
_If you insist.  
  
_He bounces her once, twice, making her gasp, making her shiver, and Shockwave glares at him with as much cool distaste as he can muster and resigns himself to watching Sparkbite wrapped up in Soundwave's arms, Soundwave who is usually so agreeable, but who is now needling him so effectively it makes his plating itch.  
  
Sparkbite wraps her arms around Soundwave's shoulders and lets her head fall forward onto his chest, her cheek turned to him, and glances over at Shockwave with rosy-hued optics.  
  
She gives him a mischievous smile.  
  
It takes him a minute to parse its meaning, the mirth in her eyes, the knowing look in the tilt of her head-- but then something clicks in his helm and Shockwave stiffens up, offended, feeling something hot and harsh and uncomfortable bursting across his sensornet, and he stares, startled into stillness.  
  
She _knows_.  
  
"Oh, _Soundwave_ ," she murmurs against the offending mech, her curly hair bouncing gently along with the rest of her, watching Shockwave. Soundwave says nothing, doesn't react, and Shockwave lowers himself to the base emotional impulse to _seethe_.  
  
He's embarrassed. She's teasing him and he is _embarrassed_ , which is something he hasn't felt properly in millennia and had assumed (as well as hoped) he would never feel again. Sparkbite smiles at him again with her soft curving lips and Shockwave pins his audial fins back in return.  
  
Soundwave just continues to move with her, either ignorant or oblivious.  
  
Shockwave is distracted enough by his impromptu staring contest with Sparkbite that Soundwave's movements fade somewhat into the background, shifting plating and the snap of hips steady somewhere in his periphery, but no matter how much he might like to he cannot banish the of it awareness completely and with each bounce that leaves Sparkbite splayed open on Soundwave's spike, her teasing smile slipping, Shockwave can feel his own array push for release a little more.  
  
" _Hhnn,_ " Sparkbite whines again, "Sound _wave,_ " and this time it's genuine, as he must hit a good angle and the mech _finally_ seems to take notice of her. Soundwave turns his visored face down towards her and makes a two-note sound that sounds like an inquiry.  
  
Sparkbite scrunches her eyes closed and wrinkles up her nose, biting down on her lower lip in that way she can never help but do, and Soundwave nods slightly even though she can't see him and manages to take her meaning, slowing his strokes, drawing them out. Shockwave's engine dully roars, and his spike strains uncomfortably behind his interface panel. He very narrowly stops himself from grumbling.  
  
Silent though he is, physically Soundwave manages to be an attentive lover, if nothing else. He supposes he can't fault him for that. One of those transmission cables he keeps tucked away in his back even unwinds itself with a hiss like a coil of hose, and the sound manages to draw even Sparkbite's attention as he moves it in to touch her, waking her from her momentary stupor. She has little time to look confused about it before the cable dips down to the place where her their hips meet, and the four-part claws on the end of it click open and reveal many small tendrils inside, silicone-soft and as deep purple as the rest of him.  
  
Shockwave is forced to shift his position up against Soundwave's back as he does so lest the cable take out his only good optic. He steps aside and watches.  
  
"What on-- _oh!_ Oh, oh my god," Sparkbite moans, torn between pleasure and amusement as the thin tendrils sweep across her anterior node, smearing excess lubricant and making her valve clench down on him, hard. Shockwave can tell by the way her back stiffens and her fingers curl. "S'fucking tentacle porn!"  
  
Her reference makes sense only to her, but Soundwave seems willing to indulge her.  
  
He continues to play with her node, his silicone tendrils dexterous enough to even curl around the curve of it, stroking and curling gently in time with his thrusts, and Shockwave can feel it nearly as well as Soundwave can when Sparkbite's field shivers and yawns and buzzes. Sparkbite starts to twist in his grasp, her mouth falling open in something like surprise, and her delicate servos dig and scrape at the cables in the back of his neck as her charge builds and builds and starts to crest.  
  
" _Fuck!_ Oh god, oh, fuck, _fuck_ ," she stammers, her head tossing back, and Soundwave tilts his helm, looking down at her desperate face, and hilts himself in her to grind.  
  
Sparkbite cums around him after only a few more circular motions of his hips, with a pitiful, quavering groan.  
  
" _Sh-- **Shock** wave-!"_ she chokes.  
  
Shockwave's head snaps up, his audial fins at attention, his spike in a similar state, and all that envy and uncomfortable emotional miasma he'd been feeling melts away like a bad recharge vision as Sparkbite cries out his name, clenching, cumming, for _only him_ , even with Soundwave's spike buried deep inside her. It leaves Shockwave feeling fuzzy somewhere around his spark, and it's such a welcome contrast to his jealousy that he doesn't even spare the time to be miffed about it.  
  
Soundwave, for his part, dutifully works her through it without so much as a stutter, as if he hadn't heard her at all, and once her gasping and mewling slows enough for him to move, he snaps his spike up into her twice more, hard, and overloads into her valve without a whisper, no sound apart from the crackle of his charge and the groan that slips past Sparkbite's teeth.  
  
Sparkbite whimpers a little and drips transfluid.  
  
Soundwave doesn't stop long to enjoy the afterglow.  
  
He stays where he is for a few moments as the overload wracks his system, lighting sparks in the thin breaks between his plating, but as soon as it is over with he shifts Sparkbite in his grasp and pulls out of her, rather gently, not unkindly, and his spike retracts back into its housing with a single smear of pink.  
  
He turns to Shockwave, business-like, and deposits Sparkbite's limp frame into his waiting arms. Shockwave takes her carefully, a little mystified now that his irritation towards Soundwave has vanished, and only receives a single nod in return before Soundwave turns away, his field a little lighter than before, and disappears through the heavy curtain of steam without any further goodbye.  
  
Shockwave listens until his footfalls fade into the distance, and Sparkbite blinks slowly and turns her head to watch him go, baffled.  
  
" _Wow._ " she says. "Well that was a real 'wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am'."  
  
Shockwave turns his helm down to her, and she looks up to meet him.  
  
"What? Aw, come on, you still can't take a joke?" she asks.  
  
"Humor is a waste of time and reflects poorly on the intellect of its user," Shockwave replies in monotone, watching indignation flash startled across her red face, but continues just before she has time to yell at him for it, turning her over in his arms, "But I can be convinced to forgive you."  
  
He sets Sparkbite down on her feet, watching closely to see if she sways, and she steadies herself and then puts her hands on her hips with a knowing, exasperated look of amusement. She glances down at his modesty plating.  
  
"After you get your jollies."  
  
"That is not a word."  
  
Sparkbite just snorts a laugh.  
  
"Yeah, okay," she says, running a hand through her hair, grinning, "One more go. Can't let Soundwave be the last one to cum in my pussy, can you?" she asks, and Shockwave reaches out to lightly cup her head as he retracts his interface paneling, finally freeing his aching spike to the air. He sees the delight on her face.  
  
"No," he admits, "I cannot. But you have more apologizing to do first."  
  
Sparkbite looks down at his spike and gives it a _looong_ sigh, already dropping to her knees, and she looks up at him with the mischief in her eyes shining like the light of Primus as she takes him into her hands. She chuckles and kisses his spike.  
  
"You are _ridiculous_. You're lucky I like that in a mech."


End file.
